The years slip away
Since his death
Yet his memory
Grows stronger.
Sometimes
There is a gentle tug
At my conscience
When I think in error.
At other times
A feeling of warmth
Knowing somehow
That he is pleased.
Perhaps a still small voice
When all alone
Lost within myself
And he is there.
Someone
Who gave so little advice
While alive
Now seems to advise me daily.
Is it him
Or the principles
Which he taught
That I now hear?
Regardless
He is there
Shaping
Molding
Ever present
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